Sacrifice
by SheWhoScrawls
Summary: What can I say, but that sacrifice is a complex emotion that no human truly understands. We've all given something up, but our time, our thoughts, and our lives are by far the most powerful. See John 15:13.


_A/N: Can't believe I hadn't thought to publish this one yet... Anyhow, thank you to Lemon Zinger for editing, I totally owe you, girlfriend! This is a heart-warming piece I wrote as mental therapy a couple months ago. It's absolutely one of my favorite one shots. -SWS_

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Sacrifice.

Sometimes it's a night of sleep.

Sometimes it's a _week _of sleep.

Sometimes it's one meal, or a day of meals.

Sometimes it's three days without meals.

Sometimes it's a warm fire and dry clothing.

Rarely is it limb or life.

Yes, they are friends and would gladly lay down their life to see the other to safety, but they try to avoid those situations at all costs. There is no reason to be too violent, or they are no better than the criminals they chase. That point is all too clear.

They have been flatmates two years now, and have never had to face such a difficult circumstance before. But when that time comes, they truly doubt their relationship… are they really willing to do this for each other, or is it too soon in their friendship, and they will risk spending the remainder of their life in guilt and regret?

But now the choice must be made. One of them is trapped inside a dangerously unstable burning building, the other outside being held at gunpoint.

The villain, a filthy man by the name of Stafford, contorts his face in a cruel smile as another window shatters from the pressure and another beam falls to the ground, and the fire roars gleefully as its appetite is fed by wood and oxygen.

But Stafford's hand never wavers, keeping his gun trained on the distraught man in front of him. He turns back, facing his potential victim again. The man's gaze flickers fearfully from the flaming house to Stafford. He is breathing hard and dust and scorch marks from flying sparks cover his clothes.

The Doctor stares down the barrel of the gun pointed directly at his heart, and Stafford is pleasured to see that his eyes have the wild look of a man who is about to die. Little does he know that John Watson is rational in the face of death, having come from Afghanistan too freshly for the man's own liking. It is watching this newest friend of his die that terrifies him so.

They say the eyes are the windows to the soul, but Stafford has no way of knowing what the good doctor is thinking. As far as he is concerned, he is about to kill – twice. And this does not make him feel any concern at all, but rather a sense of accomplishment.

But the Doctor is thinking of a plan, trying to calm his panicking mind that tells him he is running out of time and merely think. He cannot completely disarm Stafford and save his friend from the flames both. Well, he will have to take his chances.

He grits his teeth in preparation of what will come and grabs the gun in both hands, prying it away from its owner. In reflex Stafford pulls the trigger, and Watson pulls it away from his chest and as far as he can to the left. Instead of piercing his aorta and killing him indefinitely, it strikes the subclavian artery of the left shoulder, where another bullet had struck it not three years previously.

Despite the pain he sets his face in a grimace as Stafford lunges in the wake of his last bullet. The pain rips through him like white-hot flame, but he desperately fights until the blackguard falls to the ground, moaning but still happy in the knowledge that that meddlesome detective will fall with the building in mere seconds.

There is no time to clench a hand to his shoulder and stop the blood flow, since he is refusing to let Stafford take lives tonight he must make it in that building.

But is it worth it? He wonders on the threshold as the heat of the flames makes him blink and nearly back away a few steps. If he stays out here he at least will live, but if he goes in they might both perish if he cannot make it out in time. Should he ensure the safety of one, or let Stafford live with the knowledge that he had killed two?

But he is not one to let a human being die without once trying to save them. And in the war he never once feared facing death himself in the process. And the matter becomes ever more urgent, for he knows there is not even a minute left before the whole structure collapses in a mixture of bricks, beams, and ashes - with a body thrown in if he does not act.

Without one more thought he runs in, angling his good shoulder to shield his mouth and nose from the worst of the smoke. Luckily his friend is only in the next room, weak but still struggling to forge a path to safety on the other side of a wall of flames. Literally. The wall is on fire.

His face lightens at the sight of the Doctor, but this only sends him into another burst of coughing. The Doctor struggles to pull his friend's arm around his shoulder, and then another chunk falls, far too close. It's all Watson can do to slow his speed to match his comrade's sluggish movements as they move toward the doorway, far too slowly in the Doctor's mind.

But finally the cool night air blows on their face, and in sight of the doorway there is an enormous roar as the whole building is consumed by flames and falls. They dive further into the street and land on the ground. The impact causes more agony to surge through the Doctor's body, but he is complacent in the knowledge that they have both survived.

Out of nowhere, Stafford comes at them again, in a crazed state of revenge and believing that they must die. But this time the Doctor will be ready. He lunges for his own revolver that lies discarded in the middle of the street. His companion is too weak to put up a fight against Stafford, so he aims and fires, and the villain rolls off of his friend, who is gasping for breath, each inhalation causing his entire frame to convulse.

As the Doctor kneels down beside Holmes, his eyes fall on his savior's injuries. "Your shoulder…" he managed.

"I have weathered it once, I can do so again," he assured his friend.

There was going to be inevitable sacrifice - it was limb or life. The trick to it was to choose the smallest loss. And now he would not have to face recovery alone - neither of them would.

As Watson helps Holmes sit up, the detective looks at Watson with something like admiration. In two years he had not seen such a display of bravery. "Well done… old fellow."

There on a cool night on a deserted street in London lay a true example of friendship. That which would cause a rational man to let go of all caution and risk his own life for a friend. It was sacrifice, a very complex thing to all of humanity.

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_"Greater love has no one than this, that one lay down his life for his friends." –John 15:13 NIV_


End file.
